


Storge (στοργή)

by ArgetCross



Series: "and she loved him above all" [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Babies, Friendship, Gen, Identity Issues, Political Ramifications of Being a Nobody in a European Style Monarchy, Shepards Being a Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgetCross/pseuds/ArgetCross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chrom panics about being a father outside the delivery room and Haura is there to support her dearest friend. But peacetime is only the absence of war and being on the battlefield is not the same as being in the Ylissean court.</p>
<p>Or in which many things change in those two years and very little moves forward.</p>
<p>And Chrom is a cute worried father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chrom paced the rug as if he was intent on wearing holes though it. Each time another strangled yelp came from the neighboring room, he jumped and looked up.

“...is it supposed to take this long?” he demanded as he circled back to stand in front of Haura again, “Don’t they just...deliver the baby?”

Haura, who was doing a remarkable job sitting still and pretending to read her book, looked up with disinterest. “Chrom, I don’t know. It’s probably just like constipation; you can’t just pop it out.” she said and Chrom’s groan shook his entire body.  

“Haura-!”

“I thought it was funny,” Haura muttered to herself. Before Chrom had a chance to get more worked up, she demanded, “Sit down and stop panicking. It’s only been an hour. You’ve got the best midwives Ylisse can offer.” She patted the seat next to her. Chrom declined her offer in order to pace another circle.

The sounds died down for a while and they both turned to the door. And then Sumia’s cries began up again and Haura let out the breath she had been holding. Chrom’s pacing doubled in ferocity and speed. Haura was thankful the Falchion was far, far away from him, lest he start breaking the castle walls down.  

“Why does it sound like she’s in so much pain? You’re a woman, Haura. Surely you know a little more than me about this subject.” Chrom began again and Haura wondered if all parents became increasingly batty as their child was about to be born.

“I have as much practical knowledge of childbirth as you, Chrom. I’m the amnesiac, remember? And does it look like I’ve had a kid?” Haura said, lowering the book to her lap, and then pondered, “Actually, I wonder…”

“Haura, don’t even joke about that! I don’t want to think about your possible child who might not even know you’re alive and you who don’t even know they exist.” Chrom exclaimed with surprising emotion in his voice and Haura was taken aback.

“It was just a hypothetical. I’m sure I haven’t had a kid. ...I mean, first, I should have birthing marks, if I did. And we’ve been through the theories. I could only have been an orphan with no spouse or siblings, else someone would have come forward by now.” Haura said as she closed her book. No point in pretending to be nonchalant when she had only been reading the same sentence for the last several minutes. “Though you do realize you’re just projecting your panic onto my harmless comment.”

“Of course I know. Just like you’re pretending to be calm in order to stop me from completely losing it. You should relax your grip- it can’t be good for your shoulder.” Chrom said, in a rare moment of lucidity during the entire crisis of his impending fatherhood.

Haura realized her right arm had been starting to ache due to the vicegrip she had on her book. She gave him a small smile and moved to place the book on the ground. Meanwhile, Chrom sunk into the chair beside her. With nothing else to distract her, she watched Chrom watch the door. He still gave a little start each time Sumia screamed anew.

“Hand.” he demanded out of the blue.

“What?”

“Give me your hand. So I don’t bang the door down.”

“...you’re going to squish my poor hand because you can’t be by your wife’s side for ten minutes.” Haura said flatly.

“She’s in pain and I’m not even allowed to be next to her.”

“The things I do for you. I’m not even your family.” Haura said. She exaggerated a sigh and gave him her right hand. The brand on the back of her hand disappeared underneath his rough fingers and broad palm. He recognized it was the side of her injury and, although his sweaty grip was tight, it was not painful. Haura’s own palm turned damp and sticky and she wished she kept her gloves on. She could feel him shudder and reflexively tighten his grip with each new sound. And now she was aware of how her own fingers dug into his and how the thick silence only punctuated by Sumia’s cries was making sweat coalesce on her brow.

She had joked about how his frenetic worrying made the time pass slowly, but now that he was mostly still, it had slowed to a crawl. Haura looked down at her legs and grimaced. A baby was rather big, wasn’t it? She had seen Sumia’s belly swell over these last few months to where she had to waddle up and down stairs. Maribelle had to brief her about the mechanics of the birth, after Haura embarrassed herself over the fact she remembered nothing about monthly bleeding or lovemaking or any of those other taboo topics. Still it was hard to believe something like a human child could fit. The more Haura thought about it, the more repulsed she grew and, looking deliberately to an empty corner of the waiting room, she crossed her legs.

Half-heartedly, she said, “Have you considered getting out of earshot entirely and finishing that memorandum that’s been sitting on your desk for three days now?”

“I’m not going to leave her for paperwork.” Chrom said with a furrowed brow. “You don’t have to stay here, though-”

“It was a joke. A bad one. I’m not going to leave you here to break the door down.”

“Your sense of humor in the last hour leaves something to be desired, don’t you think?”

“...I think it’s because your panic finally infected me.” Haura admitted with a wry grin. “And who do you think I got this sense of humor from, huh? Not having any memory of your past makes it pretty hard to crack a joke. So, in some way, you’re the one responsible for all these bad jokes, Dad.” She squeezed his hand and he raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t blame me. I certainly didn’t pick you out from a field and raise you to behave this way.” Chrom said in a stern voice.

They looked at each other for one solemn moment and then burst into laughter. Chrom let go of her hand to wipe away a tear that had formed in in the corner of his eye.

“Aren’t I older than you?” Haura wheezed, “I thought that’s what Miriel said after she stared at my teeth for an hour.”

“They have been saying that I was a little young to have kids.” Chrom managed between gasps before doubling over again.

The door banged open and the two jumped to their feet. “What’s all this noise? Really, sir, this is a serious moment. You’re going to be a father soon!” One of the midwives scolded.

“Hence why I was practicing-” To the midwife’s horror, Chrom could not finish his sentence before dissolving into snickers and Haura only howled with more laughter.

Another one of the midwives rushed over and said, “It’s but a case of the nerves and panic. They’ll settle down soon.” They gave Chrom and Haura rather disdainful looks before shutting the door and returning to their stations.

It took a couple more minutes but finally their mirth died down and they crawled back to their seats. “I hope...that Sumia didn’t hear that…” Chrom said as he regained his breath.

Haura shook her head. “She’ll understand. Doesn’t she hate it when you stress yourself out?”

Chrom nodded. “Besides, if the midwives came out to scold us everything must be going swimmingly.” he said with a sigh.

Haura leaned back in her chair and pulled her right arm across her body to stretch out the shoulder. “I can’t believe you guys made a kid together. It’s only been, what, a little over a year.” Haura said fondly. “It took that much time for me to relearn how to swing a sword again. I feel I lost that challenge. Make a kid or learn how to swing the weight of a sword with your left hand, hmm...”

Chrom chuckled as he rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. “Well, I deserve none of the credit for my child. Sumia did all the hard work on that. I got the easy part.”

“Gross! I might be your best friend, but even I don’t want to hear about that. It was bad enough that one time I had to give you love advice in the dining hall, _in front of Lissa and Frederick_.” Haura said with a tone of disgust.

“I wasn’t even- Haura, you were the one who asked me what that euphemism meant!” Chrom said, shoving her left shoulder gently even as he turned pink. They remembered too clearly Chrom’s frantic pantomime and Lissa’s seemingly innocent questions. Frederick’s dry comments had only made the whole situation worse and Haura had worn her hood for the rest of the day to hide her red face. “How on earth did you remember war strategy and not things like that?”

“I embarrassed myself a lot those first few months, didn’t I?” Haura said with a laugh on her lips, “Trust me, I sometimes wish I could remember more normal things. It makes me wonder what my life had to be like, for the most natural thing to be a sword in my hand and a war plan always in mind.”

Chrom’s eyes filled with pity and Haura could tell he was about to say something terribly sweet and overdramatic. By Naga, he was about to become a father and his stupid big heart still had room to feel bad about something Haura had accepted a long time ago. She waved her hands in his face to preempt his words.

“Stop, stop, I have no regrets. I’m not here, sweating by your side, even after the war is over, just because I feel some sort of misguided debt to my savior. Whether you like it or not, your baby is going to have a hell of a lot of doting aunts and uncles in the Shepards. And they’re gonna have the best parents in the world.”

The edge in Chrom’s eyes softened a little. “Thanks, Haura. I was actually-”

Sumia’s screams suddenly cascaded all at once and Haura’s attempts to distract herself and Chrom turned into dust in the wind. They could hear Lissa’s chant of “push!” and Sumia’s wails. Then,

“I swear, Chrom, if you don’t get in here right now-” the rest of her terrifying shriek was lost to cries of pain.

Chrom stood up so quickly that he knocked the chair over and rushed through the door. The midwife who opened it dove out of his warpath. Haura stood up to quickly follow after him but one of the midwives blocked her at the door.

"Sorry, milady, but I was told by the High Priestess only those of the exalted line and servants of Naga-" she mumbled with her eyes cast towards the ground. She looked as if she expected Haura to yell at or curse her. Her reputation preceded her, especially with the clergy, it seemed. Haura looked over the midwife’s shoulder to ask Chrom, but he had become completely absorbed by the flurry of birthing activity, holding Sumia’s hand and eyes darting nervously to his wife’s face. A good tactician knew when to pick her battles.

"Right, I have nothing to offer as a war tactician in the arts of childbirth anyhow." Haura said, adopting the air of disdain Maribelle had schooled into her. "If Chrom asks for me, I will be preparing for the emissaries at my house." Haura had more to say, blessings, warnings, words of camaraderie, but that could not be left to just anyone. With a small bow, the midwife closed the door in Haura's face.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storge is "natural affection, as to a parent or other family member" but also among close friends, colleagues, siblings etc. 
> 
> It is "natural in that it is present without coercion; emotive because it is the result of fondness due to familiarity; and most widely diffused because it pays the least attention to those characteristics deemed "valuable" or worthy of love and, as a result, is able to transcend most discriminating factors." Rarely do people talk about storge, but it is the backbone of long lasting friendships and marriages.
> 
> Part of my series on the Greek four types of love (philia, storge, eros, and agape) to examine a tactician's ties with her army from all angles. Hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Haura stood there, trying to calm her rising temper. This slight insult to her pride was nothing new, but Haura found her patience wearing thin. She had come under quite a number of attacks since her entrance into the Ylissean court, from petty things like rumors of Chrom's infidelity to outright slander that she was a filthy backstabbing bitch who spread her legs for Gangrel to ensure Emmeryn's death and turned around to seduce Chrom into killing her former employer.

A month ago, she had laughed them off. Two weeks ago, she had cried herself to sleep. Four days ago, using only a steak knife and her bare hands, she had nearly killed one of the old hierarchs who tried to proposition her. That had ended any hope of Haura and the clergy getting along. Haura was fed up enough to not care and that night she had slept in the barracks for the first time since Chrom gave her apartments in the city. It made her feel safe, to hear Lon'qu and Libra conversing softly when they could not fall asleep, Sully’s droning snores, and Miriel's soft sighs as she worked by candlelight.

Chrom, when he heard, had been completely irate and it took Haura, Frederick, and Sumia, who was heavily pregnant, alternating between yelling, coaxing, and demanding him to stay put and stop himself from going on warpath. If Chrom lost the backing of the clergy, it did not matter how much the people loved him- an excommunication would ruin the fledgling legitimacy of his reign. Luckily, Haura thought, his mind quickly became occupied with the arrival of his child. Haura did not mention it again and everyone around her, out of pity or respect, she did not know, pretended to forget.

What kept her going was Nowi and Gaius waking her up in the middle of the night two days ago with buckets of paint and smuggled powder from a port down south. Maribelle complained loudly to Haura and Lissa the next day about the incompetence of the policing soldiers. No one knew who painted the temple and hierarch's residence in sticky neon paint and spiked the well so that the brothers sneezed throughout all their sermons the next couple days.

"Someone said they saw Naga herself as a dragon descend on the temple, but pah, I say those incompetent guards should not be allowed even a drop of liquor upon their duty. How disgraceful."

Frederick, who noticed everything at all times, confronted them about it the next day and lectured them until Gaius was falling asleep on his feet and Nowi could steal the candy from his pockets. Haura had been the only one that felt chastised, especially when Frederick said thinking they were above the law was exactly what earned her such a deplorable reputation to begin with. Haura knew Frederick said so out of love for Chrom (and perhaps even a little bit of concern for Haura herself) but it had stung. They had not spoken to each other since aside from cordial greetings and earlier, when Frederick had stood in the room with them, the feedback loop of nervousness between Frederick and Chrom made Haura send Frederick out for everyone’s nerves.

“Karmic backlash, huh?” she muttered. The empty room had become stifling without Chrom and Haura quickly picked up her fallen book, a treatise on utilitarian politics, to leave. She tucked her hair away, pulled her hood up, and shrugged her robe into place. The coat was lumpy and worn, out of place in the cool linens and silks of the palace, but Haura liked how it safely wrapped up her body into a sleek profile, shielded against the world’s stares.

Sometimes Haura wondered if being born into war made her an ill-suited adviser for peace. Emmeryn had been a one-woman beacon and Haura had no idea how she did it. The late Exalt managed to keep to her beliefs and execute them with such clarity. She always thought of the people around her, yet never took her eye off the future. Haura saw the world in value judgments within immediate contexts, how to plan and coordinate movement to advance the furthest against an enemy and how to react and adapt to threats.

Haura paused on the steps leading out of the castle to stare at the tapestries of victorious military campaigns. Most were old and faded from their place in the sunlight, but the newest in the line, featuring Chrom woven in rich blue threads and popping out of the lines and lines of grey soldiers, stubbornly resisted the sun’s glare. No one else, not even Emmeryn or Lissa, had made their way onto the reams and reams of dyed thread. This Chrom, dark eyes staring unflinchingly into Gangrel’s grotesque face as the Falchion pierced his body, was the war hero, the commander of armies. He was the one lauded by the people, for bringing peace, but more so, Haura realized, for winning the war. For killing the Plegian king and bringing justice.

Her fingers traced over the portraits of the Plegian soldiers, them dying upon the weapons of the gleaming Ylissean cavalries (not that was true at all, the majority of the heavy lifting in the final battle was done by the mages, foot soldiers, and pegasus knights, with the horses shuddering and struggling to move across the desert). Many of the Plegian faces had bulging eyes, wide lips, and bulbous noses, caricatures meant to enhance the grim triumph in the oncoming soldiers of Naga. There was no image of Tharja, who took the chance to escape from her homeland’s tyrant against all odds, of the Feroxi that laid down hundreds of soldiers to rout the bulk of the Plegian army with the strength of their arms, of Cordelia and Sumia, fighting like white wraiths amid the blinding sands, avenging their sisters. No Panne, protecting the honor of the taguel for a debt of justice she never benefited from. Not even Frederick, the epitome of the knightly ideal and Chrom’s best man.

This is what surprised her, not her own absence, for she had not been on the battlefield personally, but that even the victory the crowds trumpeted for months afterwards was so bland and trite. Perhaps the erasure of the Shepards was why they had trouble with maintaining their militia independently from the army. It did not matter how many times they pointed out these measures were required for Ylisse to be defensively viable both internally and externally. Others simply viewed it as an ongoing commitment to war. Haura had learned from watching Chrom that challenging the more belligerent nobles merely got him smothered by a flurry of passive aggressive comments. And yet here he was in this portrait, as dashing as the hero-king of yore, unhampered and unsupported by anything but his own regal might.

Haura turned away from the tapestry. It was just some foolish weaver guild’s opinion. Her shoulder began to ache again as she tried to loosen her fingers around her tome.

As she walked out of the castle, she had spotted Frederick crouched among the wilting garden, picking up pieces of rubble. Haura briefly debated trying to slink past him, remembering their confrontation a couple hours ago, but Frederick heard the doors creak and looked up.

"Haura! Is the baby-?" Frederick leapt up but fell silent immediately when Haura shook her head.

"Not yet. I'm sure they'll call you up to announce the news to the realm when it does finally pop out." Haura said with a sigh. At least he did not seem upset with Haura herself. Frederick took everything in stride which, if Haura was truthful with herself, made her feel worse. "Did you know that childbirth took this long? I certainly didn't."

"The average time from when a woman begins her contractions to childbirth is-" Frederick recited and Haura pretended to clap her hands over her ears. She could see the nervousness radiated off him, from the way his mouth curled down a little more than usual to his shoulders clenching at his parade rest stance.

"I should have known you did all the research, Frederick the Wary. ...is this all you’ve been doing for the past hours? Why don’t you walk with me a bit?"

"And where are we walking? I will not leave the castle grounds- the birthing room is ill-defended and this mess is abominable. If you need to stretch your legs, it would be good for your training regimen to jog around the walls of Ylisstol once every morning. I noticed your stamina has been lacking as of late. A woman that exercises frequently is in less danger of getting hurt during childbirth-" Frederick said.

"We can pace circles in this courtyard for all I care. I just want to work off some of the nerves Chrom lovingly passed onto me.” Haura cut in, determined not to let him get started. Standing out here had not improved Frederick’s anxiety. “And stewing here picking up pebbles is only going to worsen your mood.”

“Not at all. When we were on march, I regularly picked up all the pebbles around camp to prevent anyone from tripping. It is even more vital now that Milady has a child. We wouldn’t want anyone falling with a baby in hand, would we? I am fulfilling my duty as Milord’s knight.” Frederick explained and before Haura could stop him, he crouched down again, in full armor.

“You look like a bizarre metallic chicken scratching for bugs in the dirt.” Haura mumbled. She kicked a pebble and watched it clatter amid the pile of broken rubble she now could see was left over from Chrom's training that morning. “Well, I’m not going to stand here and watch you do this until the baby comes. I have a proposal to write so that people can not read it, forcing me to explain it several times during the evening, before the council decides by committee they don’t like it and tell me to rewrite it.”

“Who am I to stand in the way of someone’s unappreciated productivity? But if you are done for the day, I will go keep Milord company. Unless you advise him otherwise, lady tactician?” Frederick said, standing up.  In the brief moments she had spent talking, he had already moved all the large pieces of rubble into a pile next to a low wall. He was a constant reminder that Haura could work a little harder and worry a little less about recognition and it irked her to no end.

And he knew how to push all her buttons. Haura almost got mad until she reminded herself that he had every right to be irritated with her. With a defeated sigh, she crouched down as well and replied, “I’ll save you the trip. He’s by Sumia’s side. I was lovingly evicted by the midwife. I probably deserve it, but even you won’t be let in, unmarried and handsome as you are. Heavens knows what they’ll do to you if you burst in and take over the midwives’ duty in full armor.” But Frederick was not Chrom and her awkward attempts to make him laugh just left her scratching at the dirt with a stick in silence.

“Preposterous.” Frederick’s voice startled Haura to attention. “I would not assume just because I read several volumes on the matter that I could deliver a child. That is rather terrifying, even for someone who has faced death multiple times.” Frederick said with the tiniest tinge of dry humor in his voice. Haura choked back her own laughter. Idly, she tried to sketch out Frederick’s face, the aquiline nose and the stern eyes. But she was no Libra and it looked more like a caricature of a bear than anything.

With another long sigh, she decided to stop putting off being a mature adult.

“I’m sorry I was so short with you earlier and kicking you out. I was probably still nursing a grudge from the lecture, but that is little excuse. You’ve known Chrom for far longer than I and I-” Haura said but Frederick stood up.

“While I was standing here, I received the news from that the hierarch that assaulted you will be penalized and demoted. I had begun arrangements for guards in front of your apartments. We can also give you an escort at the dinner parties and other public events now. I believe Lissa drew up a list of good suitors-"

"What? Frederick, wait-" Haura cut off Frederick before he would inevitably give a very thorough and detail laden list of each young man and their various attributes. Besides, there were only two people she would be interested in having escort her and neither were viable options. One of them would never last an evening around the noble ladies and the other was far more interested in their lord and his wife than Haura. And that would make Frederick miserable as well, who Haura knew fancied her the same way Haura did. No, they would be miserable.

"I won't have someone else be dragged through the mud with me. Any active attempt for me to fix my reputation is just going to backfire- I can feel it in my gut. But Frederick, thank you.” And she meant it. And she meant it from the bottom of the heart. She should have known, however, that mere emotional closure on their fight would not stop Frederick from pursuing all the solutions.

“Stop trying to slither away. You look uneasy and you’re trying too hard to leave, even though under normal conditions you would never think of leaving Milord’s side. Even if you could not provide tactical support-” Haura couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped, “you are a woman and there is no reason to not allow you in. What is ailing you, Haura?”

His invocation of her name had to be deliberate and Haura winced. That had been what opened the floodgates, simple academic curiosity twisted into something perverse. And all it had taken was one overheard conversation before the town burned with the new gossip.

Haura: the feminine derivative of the demon Haures. A Plegian idol worshipped in the southern tip, a general of the fabled Deadlords. Knowledgable in all chronology, from past to present to the unknown future, but he would speak nothing but lies. One of the twenty-five pages of the legendary grimoire, Goetia, was named after this grand duke of hell. The name, coughed up from the mire and sands of Plegia and carried in its legacy a covenant of great potential, meant what Haura had long suspected from the material of her clothes to the complexion of her face.

_Plegian._

It all came rushing back to her at once. The madness of the last four days of Sumia’s pregnancy faded away and her forced distractions slipped past her fingers one by one. Even in the daylight she could feel that cold, clawed hand on her skin and her entire body shuddered.

When she found her voice again, it was hoarse. “I think you know- hell, you knew from the start! Your suspicions were right all along, Frederick the Wary. Too bad everyone thinks I seduced Chrom into trusting me anyway. Though, better to be a common whore than a Plegian one, they say. They will pay the common whores before they touch.” The last sentence came out more bitter than Haura intended and even she was taken aback by the venom in her voice.

“Still, you did well, with your left arm. You managed to cut through the fabric but not puncture the skin. Such finesse is what you’ve been working towards.” Frederick said after a lengthy moment of silence and Haura was thrown from her serious thoughts and serious expression.

“Was that a compliment? Or a joke? I expected you to say something like, ‘Haura, stop making enemies that will endanger Milord’ or ‘Your disrespect of the clergy only brings more suspicion to your reputation.’” Haura said, trying to mimic his upright posture and manner of speaking.

“I’ll thank you not to try and imitate my manner of speaking.” Frederick began in that slow, deliberate way of his that normally made everyone feel at ease and taken care of. He was gentle in that methodical way of his and Haura could now see why Lissa ran to Frederick instead of Chrom when she cried. “I am not a politician or a duke. But as a knight, I would say in this situation, defending yourself and your honor was the least you could do. The dastard was asking for it. You stand here telling me you cannot do this or that would only make the situation worse, but you made a choice that night. That you would stand by your ideals, that respect is earned through wisdom, strength, and decency. That you are your own woman even as you are the Shepards' tactician. Do not turn and be a coward, rendered weak by the taunts of those afraid of you."

Haura was rendered utterly silent as she turned over his words in her mind. As her teacher, Frederick had seen that expression on her face many, many times, when she was scrutinizing a move he just used to disarm or when she was bent over the maps of a upcoming battle. And as a caretaker, he had seen on Chrom and Lissa’s face alike. The insecurity of youth furrowed the brow and pulled the lips thin. Haura was no different, even if they were similar in age.

“Just speak your mind. How long have you been holding this inside? It is little wonder you have become more sluggish and distracted in your training as of late, if you have been burdening yourself like so. I am your teacher and you are a diligent student. Let me advise you.” Frederick urged, the last push. Haura turned to face him, her face smoothing out to its normal, unflappable expression.

“The threatening letters started right after Chrom’s engagement. The razors in the letters didn’t start until they announced Sumia’s pregnancy. I don’t know if you’ve seen the gossip rags or the prostitutes that get ‘lost’ in front of my house. There’s a reason why I work so close to Chrom now, because in the beginning when I was alone in the drawing rooms, people would sometimes ‘forget’ to call me to war councils. I’ve told some of the Shepards, Gaius, Sully, Libra, Tharja, bits and pieces of it, but you’re the first to hear the real extent because I trust you will not go and curse the entire nobility up to their eyeballs.”

“I realized I don’t want to be seen as a woman anymore. I was always just the tactician on the road, a person in a purple coat with a quick brain. If I was a woman on the road, it was not lauded praise, but at least none of the Shepards looked down on me for being one. Hell, I was so surprised when Lon’qu shook in his boots because I was, to him, too much of a woman before I was a comrade. But in Ylisstol, out of the battlefield, suddenly I’m the Plegian bitch even though the only time I’ve ever set foot on Plegian earth was to murder their soldiers. I can’t explain it, but, I can feel their eyes, in the way they treat me. Try as I might, the feeling of that bastard’s hand on my thigh keeps making me feel sick and ties up my tongue. I knew I could have killed him but I’m still scared, Frederick...” she finished, watching Frederick’s face carefully.

Years of training as a knight had enabled Frederick to appear stoic even as the shock and outrage of what had been happening behind his back settled in. Slowly, tasting each word that came out of his mouth to make sure they were palatable, he said, “You haven’t told Milord any of this, have you?”

Haura shook her head. “I didn’t need to tell him the grisly details for him to know what’s been going on. It’s also why he’s been the one presenting our ideas. But it is a poor long term arrangement because we don’t agree on everything and some ideas I have, like a Plegian restoration of their monarchy or sending emissaries to show support for one of the candidates for king, he is incapable of pitching and finding the right people to do it properly. And if I try to propose that, someone is bound to accuse me of treason at this rate.”

“You realize this cannot go on.” And Haura wanted to laugh because that was Frederick, finding neat solutions with clean, efficient methods in a messy world. “Changing the hearts of the Ylissean people takes time and too much suffering for anyone less than a saint. It took Lady Emmeryn over a decade to win back the hearts of the people. You need only to turn away their hate- they already fear you and while fear is less desirable than love, as Milord's adviser, you do not need the love of the Ylissean houses. We will hire new secretaries for you. I think Maribelle or Lissa may be able to help with improving your reputation. And I will insist on you having an escort. I understand you are able to defend yourself quite handily but a lone woman with enough skill to kill with cutlery makes the old nobility only more nervous in your presence. Someone like Stahl or myself will make you appear less threatening by comparison-"

“Hold, hold, Fredericson! I didn’t tell you all this so you can run yourself ragged on top of your new babysitting duties to accommodate a few weak scare tactics from my political enemies.” Haura said. Her brow creased and the ends of her lips curled downward, as if she was preparing for a fight.

"Your new nickname for me still leaves much to be desired. I will not sit still while the House Ylisse is slandered and Milord and you are accused senselessly for being nothing but a force to be reckoned with. I could do nothing when I was still a squire and Lady Emmeryn was attacked." Frederick said as if he had not been interrupted.

Haura blinked rapidly several times before shaking her head. “You honor me too much, Fredericson. This is nothing compared to what she had gone through. And I am nothing compared to her.” she said softly, as everyone did when they spoke Emmeryn’s name nowadays.

"You are being attacked in a battle where your hands are tied for doing nothing but trying to aid Milord. Your only fault was not coming to me sooner about this. The Shepards will protect our own, Haura. And while I won't deny that I will always have my suspicions, you are a Shepard. I will not let you try to shoulder both your own and Milord’s burdens by yourself." Frederick said in his matter-of-fact teaching voice and Haura felt her own heart swell with gratitude.

“Frederick…” she said, her voice wavering on the edge of tears. He always went above and beyond expectations.

Before she could say anything else, the door to the garden banged open with a crack and Lissa was there, eyes wide, the front of her dress covered in blood, but with an enormous smile across her face and Haura and Frederick were running up the stairs as the heralds trumpeted and a young woman dressed all in blue looked to the castle where she was born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very heavy and difficult, both to write and to experience. But that is how it is Frederick, direct, no-nonsense, and ready with a solution. Not the normal waiting-with-cigars scene, huh?


	3. Chapter 3

The celebration of the birth of Princess Lucina was predicted to last a week. Her birth coincided with the spring festival and so the barrels of mead had already been rolled out, the geese and pigs roasted, and the merchants ready with stalls upon stalls of commemorative souvenirs and baubles from foreign lands. Thousands poured into the city to welcome their baby princess, from pilgrims to traveling acting troupes to dignitaries.

Still, Risen did not stop for happy occasions and Haura found herself and a gaggle of Shepards traveling northward to investigate the news of Risen attacks along a major trade route. She had deliberately tried to pick those who would miss the festival the least: Cordelia, Lon’qu, Tharja, Libra, Maribelle, Miriel, Sully, Stahl, and Panne. Chrom, who normally would have leapt at a chance to escape the castle, wished them a safe journey before his eyes strayed back to his daughter in his wife’s arms.

Seeing as their commander was on parental leave, Haura had insisted to Frederick she’d go to oversee the possible skirmishes herself. Hadn’t he said her finesse improved and her left arm was strong enough wield a light blade at the most and a tome at the least? And because leaving his lord and lady’s side right after the birth of a new charge was unthinkable, Frederick had to relent.

Haura, in turn, did not say anything about how there always seemed to be Shepards loitering on her doorstep in the evening or popping up on her way to market or the castle in full armor. One memorable morning as she puttered around her bedroom, preparing for the day, she heard hushed voices and the sound of magic from her drawing room.

Haura flattened herself against the wall, grabbed the tome by her pillow, and prepared to blast through her own office door when a very familiar voice rang out.

"Are you trying to wake her up and turn the letters to ash?"

"...Tharja?"

As the door swung open, Haura, with a half-cast Elthunder spell dissipating from her palm, saw Ricken and Tharja sitting on her carpet with Tharja’s ritual tools and Haura's mail spread out between them.

"Good morning." Haura said and the ice in her voice even made Tharja flinch. "Any reason why you broke into my house while I was asleep and look like you're about to curse my mail?"

"...It was her idea!" Ricken squeaked as he dove behind Tharja.

"I suppose I should take credit for wanting to keep you safe." Tharja responded while standing up and shaking Ricken off her cloak. "But it really was Frederick's idea to screen your mail. I just provided, ah, the proper methods.”

“And Libra let us in!" Ricken piped up, “So we didn’t, uh, break down your door or anything.”

Haura stared at them as they looked at her without any sort of remorse or regret. Then she sighed. She ran her fingers through her bedraggled hair and dug them into her forehead to calm the headache setting in.

"Just...I'm going to pretend I never saw this. I'm going to go change and you better be done by the time I get back. Then we'll go out for breakfast and you can treat me to something. Preferably alcoholic."

"Do you need any help? Bath water warmed? Hair brushed?" Tharja offered. Ricken stuck out his tongue behind her back. Haura’s response was to slam the door shut and be a rude, grumpy individual for the rest of the day.

It was pushy, invasive, and so Frederick. Still, she would be lying if she said she had not slept better afterwards.

And now she was back on the road and she had no idea she missed it so badly. She had shrugged on her old coat, strapped her boots on, and practically skipped the first mile out of Ylisstol. It was childish and _Haura did not care_ as her friends laughed at her antics and the march fell into easy conversation. They left behind the raucous bands and shouts of street vendors, turning their feet towards newly blossomed fields and rainy sky.

Not everyone shared her escapist desires though. No matter how much they denied it, Haura noticed how their conversation kept sliding towards the festivities back at home.

“I hope some of the stalls are still there when we get back. I haven’t gotten Sumia a congratulatory present yet. Or maybe she’s already drowning in presents? I don’t want to get her something useless or poorly made… Do you have any ideas, Panne?” Cordelia said as they marched.

“All this fuss for that little child. Still, the birth of new life is worth celebrating. Perhaps something for the kit rather than the doe. You should ask the merchant Anna for suggestions.”

“Clothes. Definitely clothes.” Sully cut in and Haura looked at her in surprise.

“I was going to say a stuffed bear or something cool like that. Why something boring like clothes?” Haura inquired.

“...when you say stuffed bear, you mean a plush toy, right?” Stahl muttered in the back.

“See, you didn’t know Captain Chrom as a kid. You know what he’s wearing now? It’s the exact same thing he wore ten years ago. I didn’t really realize it until Maribelle mentioned it the other day. But Frederick dresses them and it’s the most bizarre thing. And Sumia’s going to put that girl into tiny little suits and Chrom’s old clothes because, well, Sumia. Between the two of them, that kid is going to look back on her royal portraits and cringe. Or worse, she’ll think that’s how people are supposed to look, big blue babies in full body onesies.”

The Shepards burst out laughing. Even Cordelia had to turn her head to hide her laughter and Lon’qu snorted in an abortive attempt to hide his smile. Haura felt her heart twinge at the sight of them and internally scolded herself to act natural. It had been a long time since they had a march so lighthearted and full of merriment and Haura had grown lax in policing her emotions.

Maribelle interrupted them with a sniff. “I recall no such event. I would never criticize the dressing choices of Milord. Sully, you’re misrepresenting my words. I simply was commenting on the shoddy replica costumes available in the market. Seeing our armor and styles copied for cheap mass consumption by the populace was…disconcerting. Especially when many of those costumes are uniforms reserved for those that worked their way to it.”

Sully grinned and shot Stahl a knowing look before facing Maribelle again. “No one was misrepresenting anything, Maribelle. I understand ya, it was weird seeing stuff marketed as ‘ _the Regalia of the Crimson Cavalier_ ’ or ‘ _Robe of the Demon Tactician_ ’. I was excited as all hell to get my new togs and armor when I got promoted, but that stuff on sale was some cheap knockoff. You would think if they wanted to sell it, they’d try doing a better job.”

“They are calling you the ‘Demon Tactician’ now? This is not right, even if it is some pointless marketing tactic.” Libra whispered to Haura with a look of consternation and Haura remembered that Libra had taken the news of her altercation with the hierarch as badly as Chrom. And yet, the vehemence he had defended her with, even putting himself at odds with the more conservative clergy members during the trial, took her aback.

“I wouldn’t worry about something like that. It’s literally in my name, as everyone in Ylisstol knows now, so product marketing is hardly worth thinking about.” Haura whispered back. Her voice was just an inkling too loud and Tharja jumped into the conversation to Haura’s dismay.

“It is insulting. It is as Maribelle said, they have no idea what that name means or its value. Maybe I should lay a curse so whoever dons them becomes a real demon-”

“That would end me in the Ylissean court and you know it. We’ve talked about this, Tharja.” Haura said stiffly and the chatter died down around them.

“...it was a joke.” Tharja muttered.

“I know you like to kid about these things but please...don’t in the future.” Haura said and prepared to move to the front of the group to avoid having any more discussion. Tharja’s biting words, however, hit her before she could move.

“Why do you insist on taking the defensive when you could easily cut these snivelling dastards down to their proper size? Or even let me do it for you. It’s not like they can tell one Plegian from another or hate me any less.” Tharja replied and she clutched her tome to her chest, giving her a look that Haura had seen her use to spurn many others but never Haura herself.

The tactician found herself at a loss for words.

“Tharja, Haura,” Libra said softly. “I know it’s been hard on you two, but let’s not take it out on each other. We can only be patient and understanding among our friends when those who wish to do us harm would love nothing more than to watch us tear ourselves apart. The gods will give us all our due share in time.”

“We’re all frustrated-” Cordelia began but Haura shook her head to stop her. They had already aired more words on the subject than either Tharja or Haura were comfortable with.

“Sorry, Tharja, for snapping at you. I know you only meant well.” Haura said.

“As if I could never not forgive you, my dear. I don’t wish to hurt you.” Tharja replied and even though Libra smiled at a mediation well conducted, both Haura and Tharja understood they had only put this conversation on hold in front of the others.    

“Right, well, I never expected Tharja to agree with Maribelle. And sorry if you don’t want to talk about this, Haura, but what, er, does it all mean? I’m just kind of curious. Aside from all the grief everyone else gave you, wasn’t it exciting to find out a bit more of your past?” Stahl cut in. The redirection was just enough to shift away without being overly jarring and several Shepards leapt for the opportunity. They all fell silent, however, when Miriel grabbed the helm, readying up a speech.

“I would not presume to say this sliver of evidence constructs more than a passing illusion of history. Unfortunately, the study of etymology, especially on the subject of given names, rarely guarantees more than a passing association with the origin of the word. The nomenclature may have roots in the southern tip of Plegia and the idolatry does trace back to the multi deistic era of Plegian mythology but the data is correlative, not causative. For all the data suggests, her mother may have just been a fanatic for Old World religions.” Miriel said. Haura bit back a rude chuckle.

“...Er, can somebody get a translation?” Sully piped up.

Maribelle leapt up to the challenge with great aplomb. “What she means is that a name or title means about as much as a phony star chart telling horoscopes on one’s date of birth. Haura might have the name of some lower demon from Plegia-”

“Haures is a grand duke and Deadlord.” Tharja dropped helpfully.

“- but well, we can all see she’s not a rotting piece of Risen spewing purple smoke. It is one’s actions that determine their nobility, not something as asinine as a name they never got to chose. And furthermore, we can speculate all we want, but until your actual mother or documents show up, Haura could be a secret prince from a fallen noble house of Ylisse for all we know.” Maribelle announced dramatically.

“I think you’ve been reading too many of Sumia’s trashy romance novels.” Haura said. Cordelia straightened up on her pegasus and avoided all of Maribelle’s accusing glares. “Those kinds of tales only happen in a writer’s imagination.”  

“Have you thought to give the child storybooks?” Lon’qu said out of the blue. All eyes turned to him at once. “I was taught to read late by a close friend...and she made it enjoyable with a well-written tale.”

Haura did not miss the feminine pronoun and judging from the way Lon’qu shrunk back as he realized his slip of the tongue, no one else had either. So it had not always been this way.

Her traitorous heart fluttered to life again before she could squash it under her boot heel. Haura reminded herself that she had not worked so long and bought so many figs to sacrifice their mutual, ungendered respect for a selfish desire. She was being unrealistic to want anything more, being no maiden, and sometimes not a woman either. And most importantly, he would never want her. Pretending her emotions rose up as an enemy swordsman, she gripped her mental blade and slew them where they stood.

The others had already begun cashing in their comments.

“I might have some recommendations for the first few years. It helps to start with picture books too. The children at the orphanage particularly like seeing the Hero-King saving the world with his rag tag army.”

“Well, you can’t give Lucina the Ribald Tales of the Faith War. Maybe there’s some tactics for babies picture book?”

“Haura, please, only you would read that.”

“Remember that infant children cannot actually learn to read until the age of five- rather the parents would engage in verbal communication-”

“Are you sure? I’m pretty certain my parents had me memorize incantations to repeat back at them when I was three.”

“I have you know ‘One Square, Two Square, Red Square, Blue Square’ not only had cute pictures but summarized basic troop movement easily enough for toddlers!”

“Don’t you think it is barbaric to teach war first to a newborn princess? The virtues and finer assets in life should come first, like civility and dignity.”

“Eh, maybe. But definitely an oaken practice sword once she’s walking. There’s no way Chrom’s kid is going to be good with books.” Haura thought that was pretty unfair, considering how fast he seemed to get hooked on Sumia’s literature, hiding them in between the political theory books Haura tried to get him to read.

“Well why not both? This is the new princess after all. Extravagance is part of the human custom, is it not? There are not many books on the taguel. Perhaps I should pen one for the princess so she does not forget us.”

“In my family, it is custom to give some sort of artifact or idol to protect the newborn babe. So if you plan on gifting a book, it had best be a tome of some considerable power…”

“At this rate, it’s not going to be a personal gift anymore.” Cordelia said and sighed. Haura saw the old familiar heartache in her eyes for both lord and lady and to her frustration, Haura could do nothing. But Cordelia did not need her help, straightening up on her pegasus and banishing her own dark thoughts. “...although I know there was this one fairy tale about a lost girl and a pegasus that we grew up together on. What was it called…?”

 

They had set up camp early as they had seen storm clouds towards the north and wanted to pitch tents before they were caught. The clouds, however, seemed content to appear ominous without releasing any rain, letting the Shepards mull around outside in their campsite, chatting, playing games, and cooking dinner.

Haura had scheduled a spar later but currently sat in her tent looking over the maps of the area. There was not much to plan with the sketchy details of the reports but, as she had promised Frederick she would be extra careful, she ran through their preparations for the worst scenarios and triple checked her calculations. It soothed her, placing neat numbers into rows and columns, filled with soldier movements, timetables, vulnerabilities, strengths, and inventory stocks. With just a bit of careful thought, the problems and questions untangled themselves in her mind and, if she accepted the ever present degree of uncertainty instead of worrying over it, everything easily fell into place.

And the Shepards always exceeded her expectations, so she trusted them to execute her plans flawlessly as much as they trusted her for orders. It was a smooth challenge and the work was rewarding compared to the dead ends she got boxed into back at Ylisstol. Haura found herself running imaginary scenarios just for fun, muttering to herself as she bent over the tiny wooden soldiers.

“And bam, they hit them fast right there and Sully says ‘I’ll kill you twice!’ and down they go. Oh mister Risen, I see you have left your entire left flank open to attack. You think the cliffs will give you protection but you failed to see the beautiful and talented Cordelia with Haura flying hidden in the clouds. And we leap into the fray, back to back, whoosh-” Haura flicked over one of the enemy statuettes with a grin, “Time to tip the scales! Arcfire!”

“You’re adorable.”

Haura squeaked and jumped upright, scattering the figurines all across the makeshift table. Tharja stood in the shadows with a smile on her lips and Haura had not noticed when she even entered.

“Tharja, how long have- Wait, no, you saw nothing.” Haura declared as her face flushed and her voice cracked. She grabbed all the wooden soldiers and started to arrange them back into their deployment positions, looking anywhere other than Tharja’s amused face.  

“Right, if you say so, dear. It’ll be a secret just between the two of us. Hmm, I like the sound of that.” Tharja said and crossed the floor to sit on Haura’s bed behind her back. “You can trust me to keep all your secrets, Haura. Or stop anyone else from divulging them.” She laughed her soft, eerie laugh and Haura turned her head back with a crooked smile.

“Thanks, Tharja. I think? Please don’t hurt anyone on my behalf unless we’re on the battlefield.” Haura said as she began to prod the figures across the map again.

They fell silent as Haura finished her simulation, jotted down a few notes, and found herself without something to distract herself with. Tharja had not left her place on Haura’s cot and she had not said anything either, contenting herself with watching Haura. Haura did not want to banish Tharja from her tent, tense as it was between them, and escaping her own tent just felt cowardly. Finally, caught between the decision to decipher long and dry training regimens for advanced class changes and talking to Tharja, Haura gave in.

“Did you need to talk to me about something?” Haura said warily and she turned around on the crate she sat on. Tharja had pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, pulling her cape around her body like a big black beetle. And, another novelty, she glared at Haura as if Haura slighted her with just the mere question.

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you. You know I’m angry at myself.” Tharja muttered.

“...yourself? I thought you’d be mad at me for, y’know. What’s wrong?” Haura said, surprised and a little relieved.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am extremely angry with you. But that’s why I’m upset with myself. Who gets angry with their love, after all? So there must be something wrong with me. But no matter how much I try to rationalize it, you keep becoming the problem. And I normally deal with problems by cursing them away but-” Tharja left her sentence hanging and Haura tried not to cringe.

“Well, even Chrom and I don’t agree on everything. We still try and talk about it though. Just like you don’t want to hurt me, no matter how much the Ylissean nobility frustrates me, waving my sword in their face to make them comply isn’t a real solution. Tharja, you know this.” Haura said, trying to sound soothing.

“Of course I know this. Why do you think I haven’t strangled the bastard with his own guts that dared to touch you? I can hex the lowlifes that whistle to me in the streets but even I have to bend my head to the power of the titled and monied. That was how I got drafted into a false king’s army.” Tharja hissed and no matter how much rage she tried into inject in her voice, Haura could hear a tremor. “It makes me sick.”   

Tharja’s thoughts were hardly unfamiliar to Haura, who had found her mind along those lines before. But Haura had never dared to voice them, to avoid letting that agitation and unease take root in her heart and paralyze her. Where Tharja expressed herself freely and the anger and fear roiled out of her in crescendoing waves, Haura had choked down her bitterness until Frederick had cracked her open and allowed the built in pressure to seep out of her ribcage. Therein laid their biggest difference and the root of their struggles with each other.

And so Haura knew she could not be straight with Tharja, who would only augment and reflect back anything more than calm and control. She had, on some level, deceived all the Shepards before to protect their emotions and morale during the war and Haura was willing to do it again.  

“...Tharja, this is about more than just me. You said you had to hex some people that were harassing you-”  

“I’m capable of taking care of myself. They regretted opening their mouths.” she said and lifted her chin off her knees to affix Haura with a penetrating stare. “You know that.”

“I do know that, but that doesn’t stop me from being worried about you. This ‘watching each other’s back’ runs both ways, you know. Look, we both know what being Plegian in Ylisse is like. It’s not easy. But I have you and the Shepards all looking out for me so I know I can survive it. And the same goes for you- we’re all here for you. It’s not perfect. But that is just how it’s going to be, as long as I am Chrom’s right hand tactician.” Haura said.

Her piece said, Haura stood up and clapped Tharja on the shoulder. Tharja leaned into her hand and looked up to Haura. She did not respond.

“Come with me to dinner? Or are you still mad at me for being stubborn?” Haura said with a tired smile.

“...you said as long as you are Chrom’s woman, this will not end.”

Haura gave a slow nod, wary of the tone of Tharja’s voice. Tharja’s eyes alighted.  

“Then, Haura, come with me to Plegia.” She grabbed Haura’s hand off her shoulder and pulled it close to her chest as Haura stared at her in shock.

“Tharja-”

“You believe yourself Plegian so let me show you what that means. Let me show you the sands that birthed you and the temples that have a thousand years of history. People will respect your power there and those that hurt you can be punished without fear of self-important relics. If we travel together, no bandit or tyrant will be able to touch us. I want to show you where I grew up, the arcane secrets in my family’s libraries, and how the dusky nights in Plegia have the most brilliant stars.” Tharja murmured and Haura could feel her own pulse in the grip of Tharja’s dark fingers.

Her natural response got stuck in Haura’s throat as she stared into Tharja’s fierce eyes, filled with desire. It made Haura’s stomach turn. She knew in her heart where she stood, by whom, what she had resolved the moment she had realized with sick anxiety what Tharja’s insistent gazes meant (because Haura wishes she could decide who she loved, but she can’t and, like the coward she is, she cannot break Tharja’s heart just for her own peace of mind), but her mouth and legs would not obey her screaming mind.

And Haura could not deny how sweet the taste of escape had been, even when they had been on the road but a day. Her hands grew sweaty and Tharja started to frown as Haura’s silence from the white noise in her mind grew longer.

Naga saved her when Stahl called out to camp that dinner was ready.

The moment broken, Haura ripped her hand out of Tharja’s grasp, exclaimed how she was starving, and cajoled Tharja to sup with her, talking over any of Tharja’s attempts to return to the subject. Once she was among the rest of the Shepards, Tharja melted away from the forefront of the attention and Haura listened to Sully and Stahl tell the story of the Bull and the Panther without hearing a word they said. Her food, despite her hunger, tasted like stale hardtack.

Haura, filled with the cacophony of her own thoughts mixed with quiet dread, did not notice nearly everyone leaving to their own business. Only when Lon’qu rapped the backs of her clenched fists with a practice sword did Haura jump up and realized only Libra and Maribelle, deep in a philosophical conversation, were still by the fire.

“We had an appointment before the sunset.” Lon’qu said and he looked at her blank surprise with a small frown. “Are you not ready after insisting you were up to it?”

Haura pulled herself together and shook her head. This would be good for her, to be forced to abandon her worries and only focus on the steel in her hands. It was another brand of escapism and Haura could not help the ironic smile that curled on her lips. Tharja knew her better than Haura gave her credit for.

“I’ve been looking forward to this since I could hold a sword again. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more expansion on the many family/friendship dynamics. Trust doesn't mean necessarily saying everything. There are just some members that you love but can't tell everything to because you know it just will go over wrongly. 
> 
> So many characters...talking. I love them all but *keels over* (And I couldn't resist the jab at Chrom's outfit. Who can?)
> 
> Making Tharja more complex than just a giggly stalker type was a lot more fun than I expected. Her and Haura's relationship is a lot less one-sided now than when it was (briefly) introduced in Philia and that gave me great joy to write. 
> 
> I had to extend this to one more chapter because I got carried away writing Shepards on-the-road shenanigans. We're almost there! Let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

“That is enough.” Lon’qu said for the fourth time as he knocked Haura down and his blade quivered an inch away from her sternum.

“Are you already tired? Once more.” Haura demanded as she knocked away the tip of his blade with the back of her hand. She stood up, forcing her legs to still, and bent her knees to a starting stance, holding her blade low.

“No. Will you even be able to walk tomorrow? You are getting sloppy and there is no point to sparring with you like this. ...You keep rising up too high; lower your center of gravity.” He said, sheathing his sword and turning away. The sight was irritatingly familiar.

Haura dipped lower, gritting her teeth as her thighs burned and shivered, threatening to give out at any moment. There were no figs and he knew her better now. She was not insisting on this fight as a point of pride or anger due to an insult. He knew this.

“Just once more. I know what I need to change. And you keep slowing down right before your strike lands, your shoulders are too stiff, and-” she called to his back. Hear what I want, she tried to put in her voice. To let the frustration melt out of my bones, to fix my mistakes, and to fortify me against confusion and weakness after being worn down to her nerves over the last year.

“I slow down my blow because I’m trying not to behead you.” Lon’qu replied, turning around with a frown.

Haura shook her head. “Even when I parry you or the strike isn’t anywhere near a vital spot- I know you. You should be able to be precise while still being quick.” She could see him running through their last spar and when he grimaced, he had realized the truth in her words.

“Hm. I will have to correct that then.” He unsheathed his sword and Haura allowed herself a lazy grin before focusing on her opponent. “Come then. If you cannot even land one blow on me, I do not think you should fight come tomorrow.” He settled into a ready stance as well, both hands on the hilt and blade parallel to the ground.

She did not rise to the bait. One breath. Her heart became a drumbeat, pushing blood through her aching limbs. Sore but strong. An exhale.

Relax. Be ready to let him push and find himself falling through water. React and pull that energy from him.

Lon’qu moved first.

Reversal.

She let him penetrate her space for one pace before catching his strike on her blade and turning, seizing his momentum to close the distance between them. But he had seen her already and changed his angle while sliding out of her reach.

Watch the turn of his body; he was a deep pool, with currents below the still surface. He would drown any strike into the drink unless she could part him. Break the surface. Observe but do not sink into the stillness and concentration in those dark eyes. The first ripple.

Greased metal screeched against each other as they broke their grapple and Haura flowed forward on the offensive, only to be parried and forced back. She bit back a curse.

She had dived too deep. He bore down mercilessly, nearly breaking her parries and unbalancing her attempts to be on the offensive. The perfectionist, he had already corrected the speed of his swings and even begun accelerating into his blows. Haura’s arm trembled against the increased force and she had to choke back her frustration as this spar started to head the way of the others.

Do not breathe in the water. Find the sky. Hold in the air- do not let it escape the lungs. Kick upwards.

Legs groaning, she moved her body weight back to the balls of her feet, pivoted, adding torque, and forced her center to be steady even as she moved, lighter than ever. Lon’qu struck again, faster than ever, and finally, her body just _reacted_ the way she had been trying to achieve all evening.

Tilting away from him, she shifted her grip, curled two fingers of the right hand onto the hilt, and, with that extra leverage, broke Lon’qu’s strike by jerking the pommel up against his wrist. Her right hand grabbed and pulled his arm, redirecting his momentum earthward as her sword in her left came to a trembling stop by his neck.

“I win.” she breathed.

His free hand grabbed her sword arm, his leg hooked around hers, pulled her along with him in the consuming roar of his movement. She was spun, her legs were kicked out from under her, too weak to resist, and Haura found herself on her bruised back, staring up again to the tip of a blade an inch from her nose.

“Yield.”

“I had you.”

“Our sparring terms were always overwhelming victory. The armor at my neck would have stopped your blade long enough for me to unbalance you. Yield.”

“...I yield.”

“Good fight.” Lon’qu said as he withdrew the sword.

“Ah, how frustrating. I almost had you.” Haura said and groaned as she sat up.

“You can think that.”

“Someone is harsh. At least I can match you for pace. My body’s finally catching up again.”

“Can you stand?” he asked as he tossed her a towel. Haura wrinkled her nose as it oozed with both of their accumulated sweat, but mopped her forehead anyway.

“We used to do this all the time and march a whole day afterwards. I’ll be fine- my endurance isn’t so poor.”

Haura rolled up onto her knees and used her hands to push herself up. Her legs, her butt, her back all ached but it was a good, healthy burn. Yet, when she tried to take a step, she stumbled sideways. He looked at her as if he was unsure to be amused or concerned.

“When you say all the time, you meant that one week when you harried me with those blasted figs until I agreed to spar with you? And then you promptly did not take that seriously either? It certainly tested the endurance. Of my patience.”

Haura snorted as she limped over to her stuff. “Well, good. You could stand to learn some patience. And I’m was serious when we sparred. I am always serious and mature. If I’m not, no one would believe in me as a tactician.”

She grabbed her canteen and the cool water tasted godly. It was hard not to suck it all down at once.

“Hmph. Says the woman that wanted my friendship so badly that she resorted to tactical mind games and risking her fingers multiple times to poke me in the ribs while handling live steel.” Lon’qu grumbled.

“I knew you could stop yourself before you cut off my hands. And I’m pretty good at dodging, if I do say so myself. It was a risk I was willing to take.” Haura said lightheartedly and wiggled her fingers off the body of the canteen.

They fell silent as Lon’qu sat down to inspect his blade and Haura started stretching out her shoulder to cool down. The sun had already disappeared into a sliver of light on the horizon and the long purple shadows stretched across the fields. The air chilled rapidly in the gloom of spring and Haura sneezed as she rubbed away her cooling sweat.

“What I wouldn’t do for a nice long soak right now.” Haura said.

“...civilian life has made you soft.” There was no bite in his words.

“Ha, I think so. When my shoulder was still healing and it would cramp up, Chrom let me use the royal bathtubs. By Naga, they were extravagant but the water smelled so nice and it was always just the right temperature. And the best thing, there was actual privacy! Do they have anything like Regna Ferox?”

Lon’qu looked up from inspecting the blade of the sword and pondered for a moment.

“There is a fort up north, in the Sleeping Lands where few live. It is bitterly cold there and the wind cuts right through cloaks and coats alike. But the fort was built on top of hot springs. So Basilio used to bring us there to learn to fight in the winter during the day and soak in the springs at night. Many soldiers nearly lost their fingers and toes to frostbite at first.” Lon’qu recalled and had Haura not been watching his face, she would have missed the slight fondness in his expression.

“...Do you miss it? Ferox?” Haura asked, looking up as she splayed her legs and reached for her toes.

“Yes. In some ways. It still is strange to no longer be at Arena at dawn after so many years. ...But I have not let myself grow soft.”

He sheathed the sword and stood up. Haura craned her neck up- gods, he was tall!- but remained where she was. She reached up her left hand, an unspoken invitation for him to pull her up, and Lon’qu stared at it, looking offended. With a half laugh, Haura withdrew her hand and pushed herself up to her feet.

“And when do you intend to return?”

“...To?”

“Regna Ferox, of course. The war ended a year ago, if you haven’t noticed. Don’t you feel homesick?” Haura said, the serious tone of her voice at odds with the flippancy of her words. They began to walk back to the campsite.

“...Do you or Chrom intend to discharge me?”

“Not at all! You’re one of our finest soldiers- not that it’s just your sword skills...” Haura sputtered to a stop when Lon’qu laughed, a full belly laugh that escaped his lips before he caught it. Haura let herself chuckle too even as the ends of her ears burned.

“I will return if Chrom or Basilio orders me to. But know it was Basilio who told me that worldly experience would sharpen my skills. And it has. Wherever I can grow stronger will suffice for me.” Lon’qu replied.

“That’s...good to hear. It would be a loss for the Shepards if you left, wouldn’t it?” she mumbled. They had reached the edge of camp. Haura had stopped before they crossed in front of the tents, not wanting to return quite yet. Her eyes darted to the shadows to look for Tharja.

Lon’qu came to a stop as well, sensing something off about Haura’s demeanor. Several moments of silence passed as they stood there. He waited, patiently at first and then less patiently after she said nothing, folding her arms and looking at the ground. The tension in Haura’s expression was palpable and, to his annoyance, he was feeling increasingly guilty over nothing with each passing second. So he broke the silence first.

“...What is it? Spit it out.”

His curtness brought a measure of usual determination into Haura’s eyes and Lon’qu was taken aback by how relieved it made him.

“Right. If... _when_ you go back to Regna Ferox, you would come back and see us, right? If I showed up in Regna Ferox, you wouldn’t slam the door in my face.” Haura said and Lon’qu was about to exclaim in disbelief that she had looked so worried for such a small matter. He fell silent when he saw the way she gripped her right shoulder. Even in the evening gloom he could tell how her fingers dug trenches into her coat.

“The Feroxi are no stranger to hospitality, Haura, especially to friends. I am not Raimi- I will not demand you wrestle me to the ground in order to be served a cup of tea.” Lon’qu said. Haura let a bark of a laugh and her grip did not loosen.

“We are friends, are we not? Even if I was the one that ‘harried’ you until we could spend time together. Gods, am I no different than Tharja?” Haura said, running her right hand through her bangs. She kept staring into the corners of the tents, as if expecting Risen to emerge from the tent flaps.

“What does she have to do with anything? You’re not making any sense anymore.” Lon’qu finally snapped, not trying to be cruel but honestly lost. “Insecurity does not become you- what is on your mind? You have always spoken it without care before.”

They could barely make out each other’s faces in the shadows of the cloudy night and Haura was reminded viciously how fragile their camaraderie could have be. How easily he could have just shut her out entirely during those first few weeks. But she was done running and second guessing herself. Her own wishy-washy thinking was becoming abhorrent to her. She had not realized how beaten down the last year had made her after all. This was only Lon’qu and Tharja after all- not decrepit old men who would sooner lynch her than listen to her.

She took a breath and rather than anxiety, a constant companion nowadays, her heart felt calm.

“This is about...us.”

Lon’qu froze.

“Our friendship. I don’t pretend I can fully understand your fear of women because everything I had learned to fear on the battlefield could hurt me and I was so sure no woman could hurt you. And I took issue with the fact I was somehow...reduced by your fear. To be nothing more than what was between my legs when I barely understood what that was.”

Lon’qu’s stoicism could not mask the amount of consternation in his face. Haura gave him a little sad smile, hoping to ease away the severity of her words, before continuing.

“But recently, I think I’ve been learning a little more about fear. And the way it makes you blind to everything else except the desire to run and hide away. I realized I put you in some very uncomfortable positions. And while I don’t regret the fact we can spar and tell stories and you can grab me by my arm to throw me to the ground, I need to-”

“You are rambling.” Lon’qu cut in and he sighed in apparent relief. Heat flushed to her face.

“I was trying to apologize, actually-”

“For what?”

And now Haura could only wait for him to explain himself, balanced on a precipice, filled with apprehension.

“I don’t like my fear, Haura. I do not wish to cling to it. There is nothing pleasant about the icy feeling in my stomach each time a woman drew near, even if we could have had a pleasant conversation had she been but a man. I feel pathetic each time it overtakes me and leaves me shaking in my boots.” Lon’qu said. He spoke about his fear with the same practiced calm Haura had used when she recited the attacks to Frederick.

He continued, closing his eyes. “But a warrior does not improve himself by being closed to new methods and shying away from discomfort. Your methods may have been...odd, but we all knew that about you anyway. You say you’re sometimes a woman and sometimes just a tactician and now I can just let that be your business. It is...easy between us, isn’t it?”

“...Yes. But, I would still-”

Lon’qu stared Haura down and she fell silent. He started to look more flustered, running his hand through his hair, but kept going.

“You offered friendship and I took it. Stupid pranks with figs and all. Regardless of where we end up, that...does not change. You match blades with a Feroxi champion even though you could easily make your living just as a tactician and play politics as well as soldier. So I...respect you for that.”

The feeling was akin to having failed to parry and getting hit in the stomach by a practice sword. The impact would have sent her flying backwards into the ground and she definitely would have skidded for at least a foot, dazed and in pain. She stopped breathing for a second and her mind echoed his voice over and over again.

“Oy, don’t cry.” Lon’qu exclaimed in alarm and all pretense of comfort left his paling face.

“I am?” Haura reached up and a water droplet dropped onto her hand. Using the clean underside of her wrist, she scrubbed at her eyes. “Oh blast it. Don’t tell anyone you made the Demon Tactician cry. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Then water hit the top of her head and Haura was pretty damn sure no one was crying on top of her. Lon’qu blinked as water hit his eyelashes. They looked at each other and then up simultaneously to see the heavens open and begin pouring.  

“Damn it, Panne, I thought you said it wasn’t going to rain after all!”

“I said nothing of the sort, only that the wind was changing.”

“Someone save the leftovers. It’s still on the fire!”

 

Tharja sat alone in a corner of her tent, trying to scrape the mud off her golden ornaments after the day’s battle, when Haura entered.

“Do you remember how excited we were investigating the Plegian folklore? You came to my bedside after the war every day with new books you found by scouring the back alleys. It was the first time we really got to talk face to face since the chaos around your recruitment.”

Tharja did not turn around even as Haura’s soft voice held her attention and she put her collar and brush down. The tent Tharja shared with Panne and Miriel was empty- the others gathered around the fire, relaxing after the battle. Haura must have known, would have been invited to join them, but she chose to come find Tharja alone in her tent.

The hair on the back of Tharja’s neck rose as her body became sensitive to how Haura moved, picking her steps across the floor in an uneven pace. Her right leg must have still been stiff, Tharja noted. She had seen it from the way Haura struggled in the muddy farming fields and Lon’qu had moved to her right side without prompting, killing those that dared approached. It only served as a bitter reminder that in the year Tharja had been with the Shepherds, she had not once fought and bled by Haura’s side.

“Tharja, will you not even look at me?”

Anger and frustration still simmered in her mind and poisoned her love for Haura. It made Tharja feel ill that she could be so overtaken by the wealth of conflicting emotions. But she could never truly resist Haura, especially with her pleading. It was cute and helpless that she ended up approaching Tharja this time.

Tharja turned and her aloof demeanor faded as she came face to face to Haura.

They were a pace apart and Haura had crouched to her eye level. Tharja could see the limpid water of her eyes, the dark freckles that blended into her skin, and the shine of her full lips. Haura would only have to tip forward and Tharja’s lips parted in unconscious preparation-

The heat came to Tharja’s face too fast and too furious as if she could only absorb a fraction of the radiance flowing from Haura herself and the rest had to spill onto her skin.  

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with...them?” The acid came into her voice reflexively. Haura’s smile faded and Tharja felt mortification set in. She had never pushed Haura away like so. Then that stubborn line appeared in Haura’s face, so often directed at a map or a plan. If she thought Haura had imparted warmth before, Tharja felt as if she was set aflame underneath the entirety of Haura’s attention. The tent, the fields, all of Ylisse had shrunk into this tiny space that the two of them shared. Whatever furious words Tharja had for her died in her throat.

“I want to apologize. I hurt you yesterday because I was confused and indecisive. And I don’t intend to escape responsibility for that. Not just for that, but-”

Some of the muddiness in Haura’s eyes returned and she bit off the end of her sentence in confusion. No longer held in utter thrall, Tharja reached out a trembling hand and touched Haura’s cheek. When she did not shy away as usual, Tharja’s heart constricted painfully and her fingers were burned by the desert sands that resided in Haura’s blood, her bones, _her skin_.

Tharja did not know the words coming from her own mouth until after she said them. They spilled out unprompted and were carried away by the desert winds between them.

“I will always, always forgive you, my love. I knew you were Plegian from the start. And I had wanted to show you what that meant to me. That you needn’t look at yourself in the mirror with shame. Haura, your name should be your pride.”

A tear rolled down Haura’s face and wet the tip of Tharja’s thumb. Then Haura broke down at last, shoulders slumping, hand brushing away Tharja’s.

“Haura…”

Tharja let out a shuddering gasp as Haura surged forward, wrapping her arms around Tharja, burrowing her face in Tharja’s dark hair. And Tharja was either burning or in rapture, she wasn’t sure which because Haura was all nine hells and the heavens all in once. Her hands clawed into Haura’s hair, her back, it mattered not because Haura held her and this was no dream- _Tharja was not sure she could ever go back to dreaming now._

“I thought I was alone in this burden. I am so, so sorry, Tharja. You have done so much for me.” Haura muttered before releasing Tharja. Tharja did not want to let her go, balling her hands into the back of Haura’s coat.

“I never believed this day could pass. You will come to Plegia with me? And meet my family? I have missed them and they would love to meet you.” Tharja murmured as she leaned forward to rest her head on Haura’s breast. There was not much there, but Tharja could have enough for the both of them. The thought made Tharja giggle. The enormity of a future together becoming reality drove her to untold heights of elation and brought a second flush to her face.

“Yes. I want to meet your family and see those archives you talked about. Who knows, maybe I’ll find out more about my family. But we shan’t go until Chrom gets off paternity leave and work slows down for a bit. A fortnight might be a little long for a personal vacation, but I’m sure they can manage without me.” Haura said and laughed carelessly as she pushed Tharja off her.

Apprehension filled Tharja and the cold seed of doubt made all the warmth in her chest shrivel. “...You are not leaving Ylisse for good? Just a fortnight?”

Haura’s eyes turned flinty. Tharja had seen that expression multiple times, whenever a strategy had to be changed due to unforeseen circumstances or ill luck.

“Tharja, if you want to leave the Shepherds and return to Plegia, I understand. You have your family to think of. But my place is still here in Ylisse, by Chrom’s side, and with the Shepherds. No matter my lineage, my responsibility and duty is to them.” Haura said.

Here they stood again, the space between them delineated harshly and fragmented by Haura’s stubborness. It was Haura’s baseline, Tharja could see now, and it drove Tharja near to madness. All the grievances she held before came rushing back

“You know how they treat you. And yet you insist to stay and trade away your freedom? What more, you would send me away? Are we not together? Haura, you belong in Plegia. You belong with me-” Tharja hissed.

The grimace that crossed Haura’s pained expression made Tharja fall silent.

“Damn it all! Damn all the gods and demons and myself.” Haura rarely cursed and the sudden explosion of frustration caught in the curl of her fists and snarl of her lips took Tharja aback. Self-loathing filled Haura’s raw voice as she bowed her head, unable to meet Tharja’s eyes.

“Tharja, I’ve messed up. This wasn’t supposed to be a… proposition. I shouldn’t have- I can’t be what you want. I just can’t. I wish I could because you deserve happiness but just like I don’t want you to change yourself for me, my heart is stubbornly incapable of changing, even if it’s for you. I thought if I could apologize and we could go to Plegia and stay friends, I could avoid this, but-”

“Get out.”

To go from absolute ecstasy to the pits of despair in a few short moments was too much. Tharja shook and her arms tried to prevent her body from crumbling away. Her hands clung onto her shoulders until her nails punctured her cape. But nothing stopped the relentless assault of Haura’s words, tearing into her, unfurling her chest bare until all she wanted to do was shut herself into darkness, to stop feeling. But instead Tharja was hideously, consciously aware of everything, even of the hex that could knock Haura out right now and make her stop but once again, all the black magic in the world would not change anything.

Haura lifted her head and, upon seeing Tharja’s heart-broken face, Haura tried in vain to wipe away her own budding tears. “You have every right to hate me-” she began.

“I love you, Haura. Never forget that.” Tharja hissed even as her voice cracked. “If you asked me to die for you, I would do it in an instant. That will never, ever change.”

Haura looked stricken and finally, finally fell silent. Confessing, saying those words that had churned in her for a year had taken all of Tharja’s remaining strength and she slumped inward, unable even to look Haura.

They stayed there in unbearable silence for several minutes. Tharja stared at the ground listlessly, wishing Haura would leave but not wanting to be alone. Haura, on multiple occasions tried to speak but changed her mind and shut her mouth. Finally, Haura rose shakily to her feet and her voice thick with her crying, said, “I’ll be...in my tent if you want to see me.”

Tharja did not. She could not remember a time when she did not want to see Haura, but now all she wanted was for Haura to go and leave the remains of Tharja’s heart behind.

“...I still care for you, you know. You have...always tried your best to set me free.”

And then she was gone, the only thing lingering were her words that speared the last bit of Tharja’s heart into the ground. Tharja did not know how long she sat in that corner, numb to the world. Panne and Miriel came in and Tharja turned her back to them as they exchanged periphery chatter. There was too much noise in her head and in the tent and Tharja left, stumbling into the outside, not knowing where she was going, but just away.

“Tharja-!” Libra called out in worry as he saw her exit the campsite perimeter. She shot him a look so poisonous even he looked taken aback. Her hands itched to curse someone and before she could stop it, the putrid thought of ‘Haura would not like it’ rang out in her head.

“I need some...time alone.”

And Libra wore a look that was too understanding and pitying at the same time as Tharja whirled on her heel and walked back into the darkness where she belonged.     

 

By dawn, she returned, having slaughtered the nearest bandit camp she could find, petty thieves, but Tharja hardly cared as they died at her feet. Libra was asleep by the fire with a cold cup of tea and a blanket. Return to Plegia was the mantra inside her head. Instead, she knelt down to pick up the mug. Chamomile. Tharja hated that flavor.  

She cursed the tea and threw it on the dead fire. The acidic cloud of green smoke that plumed from the ashes and formed into a skull would normally have delighted her. Tharja watched it with dispassionate, dead eyes. Libra began to stir and she sat down across from him, waiting for the day to continue on like nothing had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue after this, but otherwise Storge more or less finished! 
> 
> This chapter was brutal on several levels, hitting close to home on several large points. In the original outline, Lon'qu and Haura's conversation was not nearly so long, but they provided such an excellent foil and a great open hearted conversation about friendship and the importance of talking about boundaries in comparison to the tragedy that is the Haura and Tharja conversation. 
> 
> Family not bounded by blood can be tenuous as well as exhilarating because there is always element of choice even in the easiest, most natural arrangements. 
> 
> With that, thank you for reading and let me know what you think. ^^


	5. Epilogue

“Chrom, can I have leave next month? For two weeks?”

“Of course. But what for? You will be sorely missed.”

“Surely Ylissean royalty is not so frail as to fall in two weeks without a measly tactician! ...I want to go to Plegia.”

“Plegia? Haura, are you out of your mind? It’s not safe-”

“I need to go. Not just for our foreign relations but also my own peace of mind. I want to walk Plegia not as a Ylissean knight but as someone who just maybe grew up there.”

“...I see. Well, I trust your judgement. But you’re not going alone.”

“I’m not going to let the prince of Ylisse-”

“Come on, Haura, do you think me that out of control? No, I mean just one or two Shepherds. Maybe Tharja, since she knows the land-”

“No. I have people in mind. But Tharja will stay here. Or if she goes, it will not be with me. I will not be so cruel to her.”

“What do you mean? Did you two have a fight?”

“...in a manner of speaking.”

“You know you can talk to me about it, if you’re having trouble with anyone in the Shepherds. A little friction is normal, but if it’s anything big, I don’t want any one of my soldiers feeling neglected or lost.”

“...I know, Chrom. Thank you, but it’s something I can handle. If anything, talk to Tharja personally- she needs support more than I.”

“...It’s easier to talk to you.”

“Come on, where was all that big talk about being a leader to take care of his soldiers? I’m kidding, don’t pout, _Dad_.”

“That’s it, I’m not bailing you out if you end up getting ransomed to creepy Plegian cults.”

“Harsh! I should warn Lucina if this is how you treat all your children.”

“...you sure you’re okay, Haura?”

“I promised I wouldn’t hold it all in anymore, didn’t I? But thank you, Chrom.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something bittersweet for the road. Thanks for reading. ^^


End file.
